


Junkie

by PenPatronusAooO



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, F/M, Hurt Tony Stark, PenPatronus, PenPatronusAooO, Protective Bruce, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, Sick Character, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Angst, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-07 22:12:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13444473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenPatronusAooO/pseuds/PenPatronusAooO
Summary: Obligatory Sick Fic! An old frenemy abducts and drugs Tony against his will for a payday from gossip magazines. But, she gives him too much too fast, and Tony is unlikely to survive the overdose. Bruce, Steve, and the others scramble to save his life! Whump, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Bromance.STORY COMPLETE!





	1. Chapter 1

Pepper never asked Happy to go grocery shopping with her. Actually, she never even told him when she was going. Yet, somehow, he was always there—either driving her car or waiting in the passenger seat, all business with his suit unwrinkled and his shades on. In the store he “kept his distance” (by his definition, at least). He “let her” push the shopping cart and “let her” go through the check-out lane alone. But this time he went up front with her. He went with her because his body was broad enough to keep her from seeing all the gossip magazines on the racks with her face on them. But Happy didn’t put up a big fight—not in public—when she insisted that he step aside so she could look.

 

“Please don’t,” he begged.

 

She flipped her own sunglasses up on top of her ginger head. “I’ll just Google them in five minutes,” she said. “Happy… I can handle it.”

 

He looked down at their shoes: his clean, black loafers and her pristine nude-colored pumps. “I’m sorry you have to.”

 

Pepper knew what to expect. She wasn’t surprised. She did wonder how on earth some reporter got a picture of her makeup-less and in her pajamas _inside_ Avengers Tower (a disturbing security breach), and which one of her high school classmates betrayed her with that candid pic of her scratching her pimpled nose at a chess tournament. (Actually, that picture didn’t bother her. She went all-state that year.) But, she wasn’t the main event of the story. She was in that little square of shame on the bottom left of the cover—an afterthought—the betrayed woman to be pitied by all the peasants.

 

Some of the headlines read:

 

_Stark Caught in Compromising Position(s)_

_Sex Scandal Rocks Stark Legacy_

_Avenger Deserves Vengeance for Cheating on Girlfriend_

_‘Reformed’ Sex Addict Stark Caught_

_Stark Paid Former Lover for Sex (and Erotic Pics!)_

_Former Playboy Plays Again_

 

And the pictures on the magazine covers?

 

A bloodshot Tony staring at a needle sticking out of the inside of his elbow.  

 

A wildly grinning Tony sliding hundred-dollar bills into a woman’s thong.

 

A disoriented but lustful Tony looking up at a naked woman in his lap.

 

A shirtless Tony with half of his face blurred away looking back over his shoulder, surprised, while a woman beneath him dug her fingernails into his shoulders.

 

A clearly high, clearly naked Tony behind a woman bent over a pool table…

 

And that woman? “Vanity Fair” journalist Christine Everhart. The woman Pepper passive-aggressively referred to as “trash” when they first met all those years ago after yet another one of Tony’s one-night stands…

 

A heavy hand rested on her shoulder. “It’s over, now.”  

 

Pepper shook her head as if shaking off a nightmare… Then, while Happy watched sadly, she tenderly touched a flawlessly painted fingernail against the image of Tony’s cheek and whispered to him, “I forgive you.”

 

Both Happy and Pepper preferred the nearby newspaper headlines to the gossip trash:

 

_Tony Stark Abducted, Exploited by Ex-Lover_

_Medical Forensics Confer with Court on Stark Snatching_

_Witnesses Agree That Stark was Drugged Against His Will_

_What Better Character Witness Than Steve Rogers?_

_Stark Victim of New, Still Unnamed Combination of Street Drugs_

_Tony Stark Cleared in Sex / Drug Scandal_

_Avengers’ Sleuthing Confirms Stark’s Side of the Story_

_Stark’s Scorned Ex Prosecuted for Kidnapping_

_Everhart Caught in Lies, Stark Absolved_

_Tony Stark Survives Overdose_

_Avengers Fight Aliens, Fight for Each Other_

_Everhart and Accomplices Sentenced_

 

\---------

 

**ONE MONTH AGO**

 

48 hours passed before the world realized that Tony Stark was missing.

 

It wasn’t any one person’s fault. When Tony wasn’t with Pepper, he was boxing with Happy or getting a beer with Rhodey. When he wasn’t with them, he was with all or one of the Avengers: science-ing in the lab with Bruce, watching movies with Thor, practicing knife-throwing with Natasha, having long conversations with Steve over a game of chess, or eating cheeseburgers with Barton while they played pool (he made Clint hold the cue with only his teeth). And if he wasn’t with any of them then he was somewhere public: giving the commencement speech at a university, attending a high-profile wedding, meeting with the Board of Directors, or cutting the ribbon to celebrate the opening of yet another branch of Stark Industries.

 

It was at such an event that the first alarm was raised. A giant pair of scissors, 200 workers, and nearly as many reporters waited outside a plant in Cleveland due to produce “bricks and beams for baby hospitals” (because screw you, Obadiah Stane, that’s why!). Tony never showed. The plant manager made phone calls right up the chain of command until he reached Ms. Potts herself. Pepper dropped everything she was doing and contacted Bruce. He dropped everything he was doing (literally, the tablet in his hand) and, together, they contacted anyone and anything that might have eyes on Tony. Bruce even constructed a fly-by-night algorithm that simultaneously hacked every surveillance system from the ATM camera from the outside of Tony’s favorite shawarma place to a gaggle of satellites measuring icebergs at the south pole. Banner pushed Tony’s specs out into the world and then sat back and waited for the world to track him down.

 

The 13-year-old boy who found Tony Stark was searching every alley in Manhattan for his missing dog. Instead of a poodle, he found a crazed, barefoot, sweat soaked man in a three-piece-suit hiding behind a dumpster who wouldn’t stop muttering about more alien leviathans attacking Earth. The boy told the police. The police summoned an ambulance. And, before it reached the nearest hospital, the ambulance was intercepted by the Quinjet. While Natasha calmly informed the anxious paramedics that it was for Tony’s own good that they were abducting him (“He could be infected with an alien virus, you know”), Steve and Bruce hurried to the back.

 

Tony squawked in pain when sunlight preceded his friends through the double doors. He was strapped down on a stretcher—two leather strips across his torso and one for each wrist and ankle. With Captain America-esque strength, he’d managed to yank his right arm and left leg free. Bloodshot eyes rolled in their sockets and blood leaked from both nostrils. Bruises on his neck and forehead matched the color of the five-o’clock shadow on his cheeks. The bottom left quadrant of his lower lip had taken a punch. Tony wore a layer of mud on his feet, a red tie stained with redder blood, and his watch face was scratched nearly opaque.

 

“Oh, my god.” Bruce pocketed his glasses in his plum-colored button-down shirt, knelt on one knee beside the stretcher, and cupped Stark’s sweaty face between both of his hands. “Tony, what the hell happened to you?”

 

Squirming limbs stilled at the sound of Bruce’s voice. “Wanna go home,” Stark rasped. He sounded like he was speaking with a throat full of porcupine quills. “No! I want—I want it. Bruce—Bruce, give it to me. I need it.”

 

“Need what?” Banner looked up at Steve for recognition. He found none. Bruce leaned in closer and examined Tony’s face. “Steve, look how dilated his pupils are.”

 

Steve must have seen something else, because he suddenly reached for Tony’s sleeve and yanked it up to his elbow. Above scratches caused by Stark’s own hands (judging by the red splatters under his fingernails) were a dozen deep puncture wounds. Both men gasped. “Look at how bruised his wrists are,” Steve said softly. “Look at the contusions.” 

 

Bruce did. “He was handcuffed. Cuffed _and_ tied up.”

 

“He didn’t do this to himself.” Steve placed his palm against Tony’s scruffy cheek and then patted the pad of his thumb against his friend’s temple. “He didn’t… Right, Doc?”

 

Tony suddenly latched onto Steve’s long-sleeved navy t-shirt with both hands. “C-Cap. Can’t feel my fingers. Can you feel my fingers? I can’t feel my fingers…”

 

Bruce started unbuckling the leather straps. “We need to get him back to the Tower so I can figure out what they injected him with.”

 

“Yes!” Tony shouted. “Figure it out—figure it out so… So you can get me more. More, hear me? Bruce, I need more!”

 

Banner’s light-olive skin paled. “Tony, listen to me. Listen, will you? I’m going to need you to tell me everything you remember. Names, colors, dosages—everything.”

 

Tony tried a bargain. “I tell you everything, you get me more stuff, right? Hack the police records, find out where it’s being sold—there’s cash, 5K, 5K in my office safe, Bruce. And, and the code is—”

 

Bruce cut him off. “Tony— _Tony_! We’re going to get you well, all right? I swear we’ll fix this. But the first thing we gotta do is keep you away from that stuff, understand? We can’t put anymore in your system. Cold turkey, buddy. That’s the only way forward.”

 

Tony inched away from Bruce like he’d just slapped him. “Did you hear that?” he whispered conspiratorially to Steve. “He’s going to kill me, Cap. He wants to kill me! You gotta believe me, Steve, the only way I’m not going to die is if I get more medicine. That’s it—it’s medicine! Medicine, Steve. Don’t let him keep me from it or I’ll die!”

 

Steve Rogers wasn’t a stranger to Tony’s behavior. Drugs ravaged more than one platoon during the Second World War where terrified soldiers did everything they could to keep their heads on straight. More than once Steve had to help a crashing friend. “Tony, Bruce is right. We’re here to help. Best intentions. You gotta let us handle this, ok? Trust us.”

 

Tony recoiled from them both. His breaths hitched, then sped into overdrive. He spoke faster and in a higher pitch with each sentence: “This is going to kill me—and you’re going to let it? I thought we were teammates—I thought you were my friends! I’ve saved your lives how many times and now—now you’re going to let me die in agony? I’m just asking for a little, _just a little_ but you sons of bitches—” Tony started thrashing in his bonds. His chin connected with Steve’s and Bruce took a punch to the throat. “Shit, hell, dammit—hey, _hey_ , somebody help me!” Tony shouted through the open doors. “These guys are going to kill me. _They’re going to kill me! **HELP**_!”

 

Bruce fumbled with the buckles. “Dammit, Tony, you’re just being paranoid! It’s us! It’s Bruce and Steve—you know we’re not going to let anything bad happen to you!”

 

Bloodshot eyes widened to their limits. “Anything _bad_?” Tony parroted. Something resembling clarity settled over him. “ _Anything_ _bad_? Do you know—do you have any idea what she made me do? What those drugs made me do? There were drugs and women and I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t… And I think… I think someone took pictures… Oh, God, _Pepper_ …”

 

Steve helped with the straps. They freed Tony in seconds and helped him sit up.

 

He gagged once, twice, three times—and then vomited right on their shoes.

**To Be Continued**


	2. Chapter 2

Tony’s drug-enhanced adrenaline gave him Thor-strength. Banner, Rogers, and Natasha had to pin him down in the Quinjet’s stretcher while Barton flew and then, once they arrived at the Tower, together they dragged Tony towards the infirmary. He put up a fight like a child refusing to leave a toy store: arms swinging, feet digging for purchase, screaming about how unfairly they were treating him. When they all crowded into the elevator, Bruce levered off a vertical panel to the left of the buttons and, while he rerouted wires, held a conversation with JARVIS—in Polish.

 

“ _Get off me_!” Tony bellowed for the hundredth time. Steve took a punch to the throat and Clint an elbow to the stomach. Stark shook off Natasha and she would’ve slammed headfirst into the double doors if Bruce hadn’t caught her. Tony’s attack lost precision after another minute. His finely-tuned muscles got sluggish. When he kicked he barely raised his foot off the floor and when he punched he went wide and left. “Guys, I f-feel weird,” Tony stuttered. “Weird like… Like I’m wide awake and almost asleep at the same time… Like there’s quicksand in my veins.” Tony looked at Cap as if he had any answers. “But I could fly, you know? Bet I could step out a window and _whoosh_!” Tony maneuvered his trembling hand like a bird doing a loop-de-loop through the air. A fit of giggles erupted from deep in his guts.

 

The wind suddenly exited Stark’s sails. He went still, then started shivering. His teeth chattered like he stood in three feet of snow. Warm sweat turned cold. Clint grabbed one arm and Steve grabbed the other and, together, they kept Stark on his feet when he went limp. The elevator finally surged into motion—going up.

 

Bruce’s hands flitted across Tony’s neck, cheeks, forehead. “He has a fever. Clint, when we get to the infirmary, I need you to set up a saline IV.”

 

“He’s dehydrated,” Natasha realized.

 

“And I doubt he’s eaten since he went missing. What are we thinking—three days, right?” Bruce checked Tony’s pulse at his wrist, and then his throat. “God, hummingbird hearts don’t beat this fast!”

 

“You’re… _You’re_ a hummingbird,” Tony fired back. “Your _mom’s_ a…” Tony shook his head back and forth like he was trying to jog water out of his ears. “I think… I think I need more medicine. More medicine but you—you bullies, you won’t get me any but Natasha. Nat? Nat, you’re so pretty. Have I ever told you you’re so pretty? You’re my favorite. Have I ever told you you’re my favorite?”

 

Natasha dabbed at the sweat coating Tony’s hairline. “I’m not getting you any ‘medicine,’ Tony.”

 

“Clint. Clint, you’re so pretty. Have I ever told you you’re so pretty…?”

 

Steve shook him. “Tony, you aren’t thinking straight!”

 

Barton crinkled his nose in Natasha’s direction. “Thinking ‘straight’? Was that a joke?” he asked her.

 

“This isn’t him talking,” Bruce reminded them, “it’s the addiction. Think of it like a possession. This isn’t the Tony Stark we know.”

 

“Know and love, right?” Tony prompted. “If you love me, guys… Guys—if you love me you’ll get me the stuff that makes me feel good. You’ll get it for me, right?”

 

Four heads shook ‘no.’

 

Tony tried and failed to shake off Cap and Clint’s grips. “Then I’ll—I’ll go get it. I’ll get it myself!”

 

“No, you won’t.” Steve clutched him closer.

 

“No matter what, Tony,” said Bruce, “you aren’t leaving this building.”

 

“Says who?”

 

“Says the Avengers!” Bruce’s eyes briefly shone green between blinks. “Say your friends,” he corrected softly.

 

“If you won’t find it for me or let me go get it, I’ll just synthesize it myself! I’ve got a lab and a—a JARVIS.”

 

“Tony. You’re staying in bed until this stuff gets out of your system. And if we have to lock you up, we will!”

 

“Lock me—?” Stark patted his stomach and laughed. “Guys, don’t you know where we are? This is _my_ tower. One command and I can summon every Iron Man suit and every robot to this elevator. One command and JARVIS will toss you out on your asses.”

 

“Go ahead,” goaded Bruce. “Try it.”

 

“You want me to? Really? I know you won’t let the Other Guy loose in here. Not where he could hurt me—if keeping me safe really is your priority, _friend_.”

 

“Try it,” Banner repeated.

 

“Banner?” Steve prompted.

 

“Fine.” Tony cleared his throat. “JARVIS? Add Banner, Rogers, Romanoff, and Barton to the Unwelcome Guests list, and initiate the Clean House protocol.”

 

Nothing. The AI didn’t even acknowledge Tony’s voice. Clint, Nat, and Steve exchanged surprised glances.

 

“I’m not letting you leave,” said Bruce softly. “I won’t let you kill yourself. JARVIS?”

 

 _Yes, Dr. Banner_? JARVIS replied over the speakers.

 

“Lockdown this building. Nobody in or out without my permission.”

 

“Traitor!” Tony spat at the air. “How the hell did you hack me in the last 90 seconds?” he demanded of Bruce.

 

“Because I’m the one person in the world who’s smarter than you, Tony. And because I knew you’d try that stunt.” Bruce gripped Tony’s arm tight. “I’m smart enough to know that going cold turkey is what’s best for you.”

 

The elevator stopped. _Ding_. The doors opened and Steve and Clint all but carried Tony down the hall.

 

The infirmary buzzed alive in under a minute and, just as fast, Bruce put on his glasses, donned a white lab coat, took a sample of Tony’s blood, and started running tests. Tony clung to Steve and didn’t let go even after they laid him down in a hospital bed situated in the center of the windowless room. Barton hooked up the IV and then took up position at the end of the bed, hands braced against the plastic footboard, ready to pounce in case Tony started kicking. At Tony’s insistence—his pleading, actually—Steve settled in against the headboard and pulled Stark back against his chest. Natasha piled on blanket after blanket and yet, Stark still shivered—seizing like they were in a blizzard.

 

Nat held a washcloth under cool water and then pressed it against Tony’s hot forehead. He swatted her away, then changed his mind and pulled the fabric closer. “Nat, don’t let them kill me,” he begged.  

 

A voice on the other side of the room gasped, “Oh, God.”

 

Natasha and Clint rushed to Banner’s side. “What is it?” Nat asked.

 

“I have the chemical makeup of Tony’s blood.” Bruce rattled off a list of five medicines he needed from the nearest hospital. “Steal them, if you have to,” he begged Natasha.

 

“Do you need them quickly?”

 

“Tony needed them six hours ago.”

 

“Stealing is faster.” Nat ran to the elevator.

 

“Nat, don’t leave!” Tony begged.

 

She hesitated. “I’ll be back. You know you’re my favorite pain in the ass, Stark.” The double doors shut.

 

“Why’s s’it so s’cold?” Tony reached up and behind to grab Steve’s shirt collar. “I’m dying. Steve, I think I’m dying…”

 

Steve rubbed three knuckles up and down Tony’s cheek, and then up and down his neck. The smile he forced was too wide, almost comically. “You’re just a little sick. Bruce will fix you up soon, Stark. You know he will.”

 

“I’ve died before,” Tony whispered without breaking eye contact with Cap—without even blinking. “I died—did you know that? I know what dying feels like. It feels like _this_.”

 

Steve plastered his large hand to Tony’s forehead and gently pulled the back of his friend’s head against his solid chest. Then, just as gently, he lowered first his chin and then his dry, flat lips into Tony’s hair. “It’ll be ok,” he repeated. Cap felt every twitch of Tony’s body. “Hang on, Tony. It will be ok.”

 

“What is it?” Clint asked Bruce, his voice low, volume soft. “What did they drug him with?”

 

“Everything.”

 

“Uppers? Downers?” Trying to break the tension, Clint asked, “Lefters? Righters?”

 

“ _Everything_.” Bruce removed his glasses and sighed. “Everything and then some. Clint, there’s something else in his blood that’s… Foreign.”

 

“Foreign?”

 

“ _Alien_. If I’m right—”

 

“You’re always right, Bruce.”

 

“If I’m right, some street chemist experimented with an alien and derived some sort of opioid-like chemical from it. There isn’t just crack and heroin and E in Tony’s blood. There’s Chitauri DNA.”

 

“Holy shit.” Both Barton and Banner looked back at Stark. Tony shivered under the covers. He alternated between pressing his cheek to Cap’s throat and trying to worm away from him. “Alien chemicals… What are they doing to him?”

 

Bruce snorted. “I can’t begin to imagine the long-term effects. All we can do right now is treat the symptoms as they come. Keep him comfortable. Keep his vitals normal. I’ll keep running tests.” Bruce’s eyes suddenly widened in realization. “Barton, before we do anything else, I need you go get Tony out of those clothes and scrub him down. I’d hate to think there’s a single molecule of that junk still near him.”

 

“Roger that,” Clint replied.

 

“And, Barton? Burn those clothes.”

 

\---------

 

Bruce was the only one in the infirmary when Natasha returned. At the sight of the empty bed, she felt her stomach drop to her feet and a softball-sized lump form in her throat. Bruce, without looking up from his microscope, asked, “Did you get everything?” At her silence, he turned in his seat, saw the absence of color in her face, raised his hands, palms up, and quickly explained that Tony was just in the hazmat shower.

 

Natasha swallowed, nodded. “Got everything and then some,” she reported, handing over a plastic bag full of bottles.

 

“Thank God.” Bruce started sorting through the pills.

 

Suddenly, Banner set the bag down and threw his arms around Natasha. The movement was so fast, so sudden, that Natasha’s automatic self-defense instincts kicked in, and she almost flipped Bruce onto his face. But, fortunately, her desire to avoid the Hulk was just as strong. “Whoa,” she gasped. Natasha hugged him back. “Bruce?”

 

“Sorry,” he gulped. He squeezed tighter, then let go. He turned his back and sniffed.

 

Nat cautiously touched his shoulder. “Bruce?”

 

“Tony won’t survive this, Nat.”

 

She recoiled. “Of course he will.”

 

Banner’s eyes flitted across a series of readings on a tablet. “His heart is already so fragile. If I had my way, he wouldn’t even be in the field at his fittest.”

 

“Have you tried telling him that?”

 

Bruce snorted like an angry bull. “Have you met Tony Stark?”

 

“Touché.”

 

“This junk in his system… Every cell in his body is on a rollercoaster ride. I bet he won’t even be able to sleep for days.”

 

“ ** _DOC_**!” Captain America’s shout echoed so loudly through the walls that he didn’t need to be on the intercom system.

 

“ _Dammit_.” Bruce grabbed a needle and a vial of adrenaline. “I was afraid of this,” he said, leaving Natasha to wonder how he read Steve’s mind while the two of them sprinted through the door.

 

Natasha’s heart constricted at the scene they found outside the hazmat shower:

 

Tony was on the floor. His hair was soaked. He only wore black sweatpants. His eyes were open. They saw _nothing_.

 

Clint was on his knees. His hair was soaked, and so were his clothes. His fingers were interlaced and he was pushing the heel of his hand into Tony’s chest—pumping his heart. Steve—also soaked, his hands up and fingers spread—was slowly inching backwards like Tony’s body was a time bomb. He gasped when Bruce shoved his way past him and, for a moment, Natasha thought he might flee from the room. Steve Rogers, the famous Captain America, one of the greatest soldiers in history, looked like a frightened child.

 

Natasha wrapped her arms around Steve’s elbow and added her weight to it. He clung back, his throat working, his eyes bulging. “They’ve got it,” she whispered. “They’ve got him.” He nodded, mute.

 

Bruce emptied half of the vial into Tony’s arm, then took over CPR when Clint started to get tired. “He went from cold to hot like that,” Clint said, snapping his fingers.

 

“Come on, Tony,” Bruce grunted.

 

“Said he felt like he was on fire. We turned the water cold and he kept insisting that he needed it colder. _God_ …”

 

Banner stopped pumping and placed his ear against Tony’s lips. He cursed, then started compressions again. “Did he complain about any nausea? Numbness? Pins and needles down his arm?”

 

“No,” Steve hiccupped.

 

“Didn’t know this could happen…” Clint put his hands on top of his head and dug his fingernails into his skull. “ _God_.”

 

“Stark, come on,” Steve whispered. He sounded angry, frustrated. As if his friend was purposefully not operating his own heart. “Tony. _Tony_. **_Tony_**!”

 

**To Be Continued**


	3. Chapter 3

 

Bruce looked up at Natasha and admitted, “Getting tired.”

 

“Got it.” Nat let go of Steve and hurried to the doctor’s side. “3—2—1!” They switched places seamlessly and Natasha took over the CPR. Bruce injected more adrenaline into Tony’s lifeless body.

 

Clint stood. “Wake up, Stark,” he said, and kicked Tony’s knee. “ _Come on_!”

 

Bruce looked up at Cap. Water hovered in his eyes. “Talk to him.”

 

“What?”

 

“Just… Just speak to him!” Banner reached over and grabbed Cap’s pantleg. “Talk about anything!”

 

Cap’s voice sounded strained, high-pitched to his own ears. “He’s dead,” he said.

 

“Please!” Bruce begged. “You have to try. Steve, _please_!”

 

Steve snapped out of his hesitation and knelt across from Natasha. “What do I say?”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” she told him. “The weather. Anything. Doesn’t matter. Just let him hear your voice. He’ll hear your voice.”

 

Steve sensed that she spoke from experience. So, he stroked Tony’s wet hair twice, and started to talk. “It—It’s cold outside,” he stammered. “Winter in New York. Brooklyn in the 1940’s was colder, though. Colder than now. Felt like it, at least. We had to keep the heat at the absolute minimum in my home, you know? Kept it at that point one bit warmer than shivering. To save money.” Steve licked his lips. Natasha kept pumping. “It’s cold,” he repeated, “and you—your _heart_ isn’t beating. God, _Tony_ …” Tears suddenly sprang into Cap’s eyes. He didn’t bother to blink them away. “Tell you what…” Steve leaned in close and spoke directly into Tony’s right ear. “You wake up now—right now, Tony—and I won’t nag you about your sleep schedule or your recklessness in the field or anything else for a whole week, month—for a whole _forever_. When we’re old and done crime-fighting and just sitting on the Tower balcony watching the hovering cars or mailmen with jetpacks or whatever, I won’t even nag you to take your vitamins or clean your dentures. Promise. I promise.”

 

Maybe it was Steve’s promise. Maybe it was the CPR. Maybe it was the adrenaline or that Clint kicked him in the leg again but right then—right then and there, Tony’s heart began to beat again.

 

The inhale he took sounded like a jet plane’s engine. His body seized. Still fingers came to life and flexed, danced. Behind their lids Tony’s eyes rolled, squinted. Weak, kitten-weak, he finally opened his eyes after a good minute and looked up at his terrified friends. “What’s wrong?” Tony wheezed when he saw them staring. “Steve? Why do you all look so scared?”

 

Clint groaned and sat down, Indian-style. He wiped his hands down his face and then plastered his nose against his palms. Bruce held his stomach and inched away. Natasha swooped in and plastered a chaste kiss on Tony’s dry lips. Steve touched Tony’s cheek, then his hand, neck, and shoulder until he finally landed and stayed on his forearm. “Are you ok?” he gasped. Then, answering his own question, he said, “Yeah, you’re ok. You’re ok, Tony.”

 

“I died, didn’t I?” Tony asked with a ghost of a voice.

 

“No,” Steve lied.

 

“My heart stopped.”

 

“A little. For a minute… A minute or two.”

 

Barton raised his wrist to his nose and checked his watch. “Two minutes and 37 seconds.”

 

“Sounds pretty dead.” Tony groaned and rubbed his chest. “You should’ve let me die…”

 

Steve grinded his teeth together. “You don’t mean that.”

 

“Oh, I don’t?” Tony whispered. “If you won’t get me more stuff then I’d rather be dead than feel like this. You don’t know how it felt to be _on_ it. I felt… Numb. Blissfully numb. I felt like pre-Afghanistan Tony again. Carefree. Unstoppable. Infinite. Just women, just pleasure. The  _real_  me.”

 

“That man was never the real you,” Natasha insisted. “You knew it even then.”

 

Stark switched tactics. “Don’t you guys get it? My heart stopped because I need the stuff! You have to get it for me!”

 

“Your heart stopped because you went into shock, Tony. And because that  _stuff_  was put in you in the first place.”

 

Tony heard Bruce’s statement for what it was: a firm ‘no.’ All four of his limbs suddenly flailed and his wordless shouts echoed. “Not again!” Natasha gasped, scrambling backwards away from him. “Tony, stop it! What if you go into shock again?”

 

“I don’t care!” Stark roared. “I said I’d rather be dead than—” Tony yelped from pain when his left fist bumped into Steve’s solid stomach. The yelp retracted back into a growl and he cradled the limb tight against his stomach. “Oh, my god, I think it’s broken.”

 

Steve looked briefly proud before his expression reverted into concern. “My abs aren’t  _that_  strong, Tony.”

 

“No,” Tony wheezed, eyes shut. “It’s been broken for a while. I can feel it. I… God, I don’t think I could feel my arm before. I don’t think I could feel anything! Not even the temperature of the water!”

 

“It’s those alien opiates,” Bruce concluded. “That’s what they did to you. They numbed you until there was nothing left but pleasure. No wonder you’re so addicted.” The doctor looked at Nat and Clint. “There’s a mobile x-ray machine in the northwest storage closet on the fourth floor. Bring it to the infirmary. Steve, let’s get him back to bed.”

 

While the assassins left, Steve and Bruce helped Stark get to his feet. Only when he crumpled did they all realize that his left ankle was sprained, and his right middle toe was fractured. “How much of me is broken?” Tony hissed. “God—now I can feel _everything_. It’s too much. Bruce—”

 

Banner had had enough. “If you ask for that junk one more time, Tony, I’ll get the Hulk to tell you ‘no.’”

 

“Bruce,” said Steve, “look at his chest.”

 

Banner grazed his fingers across Tony’s bare chest. “Bruised ribs. Geeze, Tony, who beat you up?”

 

“Don’t remember.”

 

“What do you remember? You’ve barely told us anything!”

 

“I remember… I remember the limo dropping me off in Cleveland. I was walking towards the door—the back door of the factory. Somebody was behind a dumpster… I think they drugged me before they  _drugged_  me.” Bruce and Steve helped Tony settle down back in bed. “Banner… At least give me something for the pain. My wrist, shit, it hurts!”

 

“Tony… You know some of the same chemicals in the types of pain management drugs you need are equal to the junk. You know I can’t.”

 

Steve reinserted the IV and Bruce gave Tony a handful of pills from the bottles Natasha retrieved. Stark swallowed them without water and settled back into bed. “Guys, I can’t go cold turkey,” Tony told them. “I’m not trying to be dramatic. I’m speaking factually. I. _Cannot_. Do. This.”

 

Steve pulled a chair up to the bed and settled into it. Bruce did the same, forming a circle around Tony that felt both protective and imprisoning. “Just think of something… Something similar.” Cap wrestled with the words. “Something else you had to fight like hell for.”

 

“Like Pepper? Or like that last jar of olives I stole from Barton’s drawer in the fridge?”

 

Steve looked away. “More like… Like an addiction, Tony.”

 

“Cap, I know you’ve all read both the tabloids and my SHIELD file.”

 

“Didn’t take them as Gospel.”

 

“We know what you mean to say, so just _spit it out_.”

 

Steve looked in the other direction. He looked at anything but Stark. “You were a drinker, Tony.”

 

“Say the word.”

 

“You were an alcoholic.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I was.”

 

“Emphasis on the past tense,” Bruce reminded them.

 

“If you can beat that,” said Cap, “then you can beat this.”

 

Tony sighed. “But I didn’t beat it. Not really. Being held captive in Afghanistan dried me out. So, when I came back I wasn’t addicted anymore, sure, but I have to be really damn careful and… I’m not sure I could say no 100% if forced to so—so if you’re trying to pull that metaphor out of your ass, it won’t fly. I’ll be a drinker all my life and now… Now I’ll be a junkie, too.”

 

Cap bit the insides of his cheeks and then said, “Don’t say that, Stark.”

 

“We’ll just get another terrorist to kidnap you,” said Bruce, attempting humor. “If you went cold turkey in Afghanistan, you can do it again.” Bruce blushed, then murmured, “Didn’t mean to rhyme that.”

 

“Cold turkey because I had to!” Tony sputtered. “Didn’t exactly have a choice.”

 

“Well, we’re not giving you a choice now, either,” Steve said.

 

“Which makes you my abductors.”

 

“Doesn’t matter what you call us, what you think of it,” said Bruce. “A week from now you’ll thank us.”

 

“If I’m alive in a week.”

 

“Don’t say _that_.” It was an order from Cap.

 

Tony squirmed on the mattress. “I’m sorry, did my heart not just stop a minute ago?”

 

“Focus on something else. Focus remembering what happened to you,” urged Steve. “You got drugged, then what? What happened next?”

 

“I woke up back in New York. They took me to some apartment building in Midtown next to a row of clubs. I think… God, that journalist. Christine Something. Shit—did she plan all of this—?”

 

A beep from Bruce’s tablet. He rolled his chair over to the desk, and then brought the computer back to the bed—inching across the floor using just his heels. “Oh. Oh, man,” he said after he finished reviewing the readings. “Tony, you… You were supposed to die.”

 

Tony lifted his head up. “Pardon?” he grunted. “While I was gone you invented something that can predict fate?”

 

“No, no. I mean… I mean it was on purpose that you died. Whoever drugged you up laced the stuff with some naturally secreted opiates from a Chitauri but—but some other chemicals hitched a ride. If I’m interpreting this correctly, then the Chitauri physiology is designed in such a way that they don’t sleep. They don’t ever need sleep. Periodically their bodies just, well… Shut down.”

 

“Shut down?” said Steve and Tony simultaneously. “You mean their hearts stop and they die?” Stark clarified.

 

“They reset for two minutes and then— _bam_ —they wake up feeling like they got a whole 8 hours of sleep.”

 

“They die!” Tony repeated. “ _I_  died!”

 

“So those chemicals in Tony did the same thing to him…” Steve rubbed his forehead like he was battling a headache. “It decided it was bedtime and he shut down.”

 

“Here’s a question.” Tony raised his hand like a child in school. “How often do Chitauri sleep? Like, every 24 of our hours like us or, um, once a year, maybe?”

 

Bruce jutted his bottom lip out thoughtfully. “Guess we’ll find out the next time you… Sleep.”

 

Both of Tony’s eyes twitched. He started to speak but Steve interrupted him to spout, “Until those drugs are out of his system, he’ll just keep dying and then coming back to life!” He shook Tony’s shoulder. “Irony, right? You thought  _not_  having it was killing you.”

 

Tony said, all sarcasm, “Ha.  _Ha_.”

 

“Oh, God,” Bruce suddenly gasped. “Oh, this is bad. This is really bad. If those drugs are on the street, a lot of people are going to die!”

 

“And then come back to life,” Tony reminded him. “Unless… Oh.”

 

Steve looked back and forth between the two geniuses. “Oh?”

 

“Chitauri hearts were built to withstand this. Human hearts were  _not_.” Bruce reached over and tapped Tony’s chest first sharply, and then affectionately. “Human hearts fatigue. And after all his heart’s been through…? It’s not like you can die and then come back to life over and over again forever. Eventually the muscles get tired. Eventually the organ fails. The people out there taking this stuff? I estimate they can’t come back more than three or four times before they’re dead, permanently.”

 

Ice in Steve’s heart. “Don’t suppose you remember how many times you’ve ‘slept’ in the past couple of days?” he asked Tony.

 

Tony paled. “Uh, oh.”

 

**To Be Continued**

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

“You’re no fun like this…” Bruce finished wrapping Tony’s wrist in a plaster cast and then tugged off his soaked gloves. “How does that feel?”

 

Tony wiggled his half-free fingers. He gulped. A layer of sweat coated every square inch of his skin. “Bruce, I’m in so much pain,” he whispered. “You gotta help me, pal. _Really_ help me.”

 

Bruce found a splash of plaster on the infirmary bed’s handrail and chipped away at it with his thumbnail. “Not too tight? Fingers aren’t numb or tingling, are they?”

 

“Never forgive you for this, Bruce,” said Tony softly. “Never. Junk or not, denying me those drugs is the cruelest torture and, believe me, I’m qualified to compare.”

 

Banner went over to the sink and scrubbed his arms and hands. “Bet your stomach can handle some food now. Let’s start with some water and crackers.”

 

Tony Frisbee-ed the plate of crackers across the room the second that Bruce put it in his lap. Then he took the glass of water off his bedside table and chucked it at Bruce’s head. Bruce ducked, and didn’t flinch. “How about some fruit? An apple?”

 

“You son of a bitch—Why are you doing this to me?” Stark screamed. “ _Why_? _WHY_?”

 

Bruce’s eyes flashed green and met Tony’s blue ones. “Because we love you, you dumbass.” He blinked, and the brown reappeared. “Tony, you’re almost done. Last batch of blood work confirmed it. It’s almost out of your system. You just need to hang on—just a little while longer.” Tony flattened in the bed, then suddenly arched his back and unleashed a long, horrendous scream that made Bruce’s hair stand on end. “Tony, please.”

 

Steve entered the room then, with Clint and Natasha just behind. All three wore their undercover civilian clothes: hoodies and ball caps. “Need an exorcist in here?” Barton wondered.

 

“Hate you all,” Tony moaned.

 

The four Avengers turned their backs on the bed and huddled around Bruce’s lab station on the other side of the room. “You got it?” Bruce asked them in a whisper.

 

Barton took a vial of clear liquid out of his pocket and Nat a small bag of neon pink powder out of hers. They put them on the table, side-by-side. “We were told to mix both parts together right before injecting it.”

 

Steve glanced at Tony. “Let’s leave the room, huh? We shouldn’t have this stuff near him. What if he recognizes it?”

 

“His memory of what happened is almost nonexistent. And, I’m not leaving his side until he’s completely dry,” Bruce said. “I’m the one running the experiments, so we really don’t have a choice.”

 

“What are you all whispering about?” Tony’s voice sounded raw, worked over. “Coming up with another way to torture me?”

 

“Paranoia kicked in?” Nat asked.

 

“He’s on the last lap. It’ll get worse before it gets better.”

 

“Bruce, uh, I could use some water,” Tony called.

 

“Not until you promise to stop playing with your food.” To the others, he asked, “What does the news say?”

 

Clint and Nat looked at Steve. “At least 200 are dead—that the authorities know of,” the captain said. “The drug originated in NYC but it’s already all over the states: Georgia, Ohio, Utah…Word’s out that if you take it you’ll die, but when has that ever stopped a junkie?”

 

Bruce raised the vial and squinted through his glasses. “Too many people could die waiting to get dry,” he said. “I have to figure out a cure of some sort.”

 

“How?” Nat asked.

 

All four heard the thump of a body. All four turned and saw Tony face down on the floor beside his bed, his entire body trembling like a baby’s rattle. His bruised ribs bounced on the tile and the nearly-dried plaster around his wrist cracked. Bruce shouted what they all already knew, “He’s having a seizure!” They all rushed to his side. Cap gently turned Tony onto his side and Bruce slid a pillow under his neck and head.

 

It was the suddenness of the attack that threw them off-guard. One second Tony’s limbs were flailing, out of control, nearly missing smacking his friends. The next second Tony was still flailing, but perfectly in control. Tony kicked Nat in the throat, head-butted Bruce, punched Cap in the nose and kicked Barton in the crotch. The archer grunted and folded around himself in a fetal position, spatting cusswords at Tony between coughs. Tony almost made it to the lab table and the drugs on it. He would’ve if Natasha hadn’t lunged forward and caught his ankle. She blocked his other foot and then, holding onto both legs, scurried up his spine and pulled his left arm behind his back. As if reading one another’s minds, Bruce and Steve worked together to pull straps out from under the mattress and attach them to the handrails. Then they helped Natasha drag Tony back into bed and, while he squirmed and shouted and begged, they secured down all four of his limbs. Once they were sure that he was secure, they all backed away from the bed, gasping.

 

“Geeze,” Bruce sighed. “Fooled us, didn’t he? If he recognizes the drugs, he remembers more. Wonder what he’s not telling us.”

 

“I’m fine, by the way,” Barton quipped from where he stood hunched over, still gasping for air. Natasha patted him on the back.

 

**24 Hours Later**

 

Tony woke up gently—gently from a genuine sleep. He found Natasha and Barton in chairs on his left, both curled up in their own seats, both asleep. He saw Bruce opposite of him, working furiously on a tablet while half a dozen machines around him whirled. And, he found Cap on his right, his cheek on Tony’s top blanket, closed eyes facing him, lips slightly parted in sleep and his right hand gripping Tony’s right wrist—forefinger against the pulse point.

 

Stark wiggled his fingers. “Steve.”

 

Steve’s return from unconsciousness was not quite as gently. He started awake—his entire body one giant, anxious twitch. “Tony?”

 

Bruce heard their voices. He put his glasses on the table and maneuvered over to the bed. Without asking for Tony’s cooperation, let along his permission, he stuck a needle in his arm and withdrew a vial of blood. “Think you’re almost out of it,” he assured his friend. “I bet the worst is over, Tony.”

 

“The worst…” Tony tried to sit up and when he saw that his body was strapped down to the bed, he stared at the restraints, confused. “Did I, uh…?”

 

“Attack us?” Steve supplied. “Almost cripple us trying to get to the drugs? Yeah.”

 

Tony looked apologetic, but didn’t actually say he was sorry. “Rather rude of me.”

 

“Very.” Steve picked up a cool cloth and wiped down Tony’s face: forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, neck. “You passed out soon after. Actually asleep, for a whole day.”

 

“A day?”

 

“A day.” Steve lowered his voice so that he wouldn’t disturb the two snoozing assassins. “Your heart didn’t stop. You just… Slept.”

 

“Hooray…?” Tony wiggled on the mattress. “Don’t suppose you’ll untie me anytime soon?”

 

“So you can get more drugs?”

 

Tony leaned away, offended. “You think I  _want_  that stuff now?” Stark sputtered. “Are you  _kidding_? I want it out now more than I ever wanted it in! It’s not just killing me, it’s re-killing me! I don’t want to think about it ever again, let alone touch it!”

 

 

“That’s the most coherent thing you’ve said,” Steve observed.

 

“But…”

 

Steve sighed. “Here it comes.”

 

“Hear me out—”

 

Banner suddenly pivoted away from the lab table wearing a wide grin. “So close,” he announced. “You’re almost there, Tony. Heck, at this rate you’ll be dry in less than three hours.” He sat down beside Tony and fondly clapped a hand against his shoulder.

 

Tony’s wrists were tied down (loosely around the broken one) but he could still lift a finger. He did—his forefinger. “Proposal,” he said. “And remember you just said I’m almost out of it. That means I’m out of danger, yes? And Bruce, buddy, you don’t have a cure yet, do you?”

 

Bruce’s grin flattened. “No.”

 

“And how many are dead from this drug?”

 

“By now—ballpark estimate? A thousand. Probably more.”

 

“Then we don’t have a choice. Gentlemen, this isn’t Operation Dry-Tony-Out anymore. This is Operation Use-Tony-As-A-Guinea-Pig.”

 

Bruce instantly recognized Tony’s plan. He sighed and lowered his face into his palms. Steve caught up a minute later. “You want Bruce to experiment on you.” Red traveled up Steve’s neck to the tips of his ears. “Absolutely  _not_.”

 

“Cap, we have to! It’s the fastest—the  _only_  way to first figure out how often people will die, then figure out the fastest way to get the drugs out. It’s already in me! I volunteer!”

 

“You—you’re not thinking straight. You’re drugged. You don’t get a vote on this and I vote ‘no’!”

 

“This is fortunate. This is downright lucky! Lucky this happened to me of all people,” Tony said. “This is our chance to save who knows how many people? It’s our department. The Chitauri are attacking New York City again, just in a different way.”

 

Two pairs of eyes stared at Bruce. “What if I can’t do it?” he asked them. “What if I can’t figure out a cure in time to save you, Tony? I… We should inject it into me.”

 

“Or me,” said Steve.

 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, good idea! Let’s say the super soldier serum and the Hulk’s Hulkiness fights it off, then what? We can’t turn every junkie in the city into Captain America or a gargantuan green monster! Appropriate sample is the average Joe—in this case, the average Tony.”

 

“Or the average  _me_ ,” said a voice from the door. Clint and Natasha stood at the threshold with the x-ray machine behind them like a kid’s wagon. “Inject it into me,” said Clint.

 

“Are you kidding,” Nat snapped at her partner.

 

It was Bruce’s face’s turn to turn red. “That’s insane.”

  

Steve squirmed in his seat. “You sure about that?”

 

“Yeah. And I’m going to do it because Tony’s right… But he’s also wrong.” Clint approached the bed. All expression dropped, and all color drained from Tony’s face. “He’s right that we need a guinea pig, but don’t let him convince you it needs to be him. That’s just one last desperate manipulation. He _still_ wants the drug.”

 

Tony battled against the restraints with his full strength, shouted, “ ** _You son of a bitch_**!” and tried to claw at Clint’s face.

 

**5 Hours Later**

 

Tony woke up in a man-sized puddle of sweat. The restraints were gone. The infirmary was silent. “Guys?” he gulped. “Steve?” It was Banner who appeared at his side. Tony cut him off before he could speak. “Clint… How’s Clint?”

 

Bruce smiled. “Didn’t inject him. Didn’t have to. I figured out a cure—a way to increase the metabolism fast enough but safe enough to get the drug out of the human system in one-tenth of the time. It’s already been delivered to the local hospitals.” Tony sighed, relieved. “There’s more good news,” Bruce continued. He looked up and Tony followed his eyeline to see Steve, Natasha, and Clint walking over to join them.

 

Cap gripped Tony’s elbow gently. “Authorities caught her. That Christine journalist woman? They found her, and she already confessed to everything.”

 

“Everything?”

 

“Even the goons who sold her the drug. It’s over, Tony.”

 

Tony swallowed and allowed a hopeful grin. “Bloodwork?”

 

Steve and Bruce exchanged excited looks. “Tested it an hour ago. You’re clean,” the doctor assured Tony.

 

“Happy ending, huh?” A sudden depression settled over Stark’s body. “Then I guess it’s time to deal with side b. Money says Christine already put out those pictures. The whole world will see me doing that stuff, being with those women… God, Pepper will never forgive me!”

 

“Tony, you need to rest. Don’t focus on that right now.” Bruce mimed wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s over.”

 

Tony smiled. “It’s… it’s…” he frowned. “Then why does… my…”

 

Brown eyes rolled back behind their lids and Tony went still.

 

Silence in the infirmary. Five seconds passed before Bruce said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

Steve touched Tony’s wrist and then looked up at the doctor in disbelief. “No pulse!”

 

Those words catapulted Natasha and Clint forward. Both sprang into action before the other two—Romanoff going for the adrenaline and Barton for the infirmary’s defibrillator.

 

Bruce repeatedly shook his head. “This shouldn’t be happening,” he declared. “The—the chemicals are out of his system. They—they couldn’t have caused this!”

 

Steve stood and backed away from the bed. “You said his heart could get fatigued!” Cap reminded the doctor. “Bruce. Bruce!” Steve snapped his fingers in front of Banner’s nose. “Banner, the cause doesn’t even matter right now—bring him back!”

 

Clint shoved the paddles into Bruce’s hands. “Ok,” the doctor said. “Ok. Ok—Nat, prep him—there we go—all right, _clear_!”

 

The defibrillator whined. Stark’s body bounced. Steve stabbed his fingers against Tony’s neck and waited. “Nothing!”

 

“Try again.” Banner waited for Clint and Natasha to get Tony ready again. “ _Clear_!”

 

Nothing. _Nothing_.

 

“God,” Steve whispered—half curse, half prayer. “Should I try talking to him again?”

 

“Can’t hurt.” Bruce tried to restart Tony’s heart again. Tried—and failed. “Try it! Go!”

 

With a strong sense of déjà vu, Steve knelt beside the bed and looked into Tony’s eyelids as if his eyes were actually looking back. He found himself repeating his original words, “It—It’s cold outside,” he stammered. “And, God, Tony, your heart isn’t beating again. So, I’m going to make you some more promises, all right?” Cap hesitated as if he expected Tony to respond right then. “I promise… I promise that what happened to you will never happen again. We’re all going to do our part to keep an eye on you. We won’t let you get captured again, won’t let you get strung out again. We’re your team, you hear me? We’ll protect you.”

 

Steve stepped back and Bruce used the defibrillator once more.

 

 _NOTHING. **NOTHING**_.

 

The infirmary door suddenly swished open and Pepper Potts strode in. She took in the scene, evaluated it in half a second, and went right into action. Steve stepped aside and she leaned over and pressed a kiss on Tony’s white mouth. “I’m here,” she whispered against his lips. “And I forgive you. I know you… I know what must be going on in your head… Know that I forgive you, and I love you. We all do. _We all do_.”

 

“Clear!” Bruce bellowed. Steve tugged Pepper back. Bruce dropped the paddles after he zapped Tony and started pumping his friend’s chest. Still bracing Pepper against his body, Steve reached over and checked for a pulse.

 

Barton looked at his watch. “Two minutes,” he reported. “60 more seconds and we’re looking at brain damage.” He lifted his leg over the handrail and kicked Tony’s knee—for luck.

 

Pepper took Steve’s hand. “Come on, Tony,” she whispered. Then louder, she said, “Tony, wake up—wake up— _come back to us_!”

 

30 seconds passed.

 

40…

 

50…!

 

The softest of inhales…

 

Tony’s hand flopped off the bed. Trembling fingers gestured Pepper closer. A squeal of relief erupted from her and she tossed her body across Tony’s beating chest.

 

“Oh…” Bruce flung himself over Tony’s knees and hugged them. Smiling, briefly laughing, Natasha and Clint joined the dog pile. Steve followed last—long, strong arms wrapped around all five of them.

 

A whoosh from the infirmary door as it opened. Thor walked in, whistling, Mjolnir over one shoulder. At the sight of his teammates in a massive hug he lowered the hammer, raised both eyebrows, and asked, innocently, “Did I miss something?”

 

**The End**


End file.
